He took his shirt off. Off. All the way off. Broad chest, a dark trail of hair down the center, smooth stomach except for the hint of abs, and the V. I thought I was going to collapse onto the mat when he gave me a cocky grin and went down to plank.

And now he’s standing right behind me, the air thick with the tension he created.

“How many times a day do you do that?” He steps onto the platform and moves closer as I tinker with my iPod.

“I teach three classes a day.” I glance at him in the mirror, but once he’s captured my gaze, I can’t look away.

“Do you plank that long each time?” A smile lingers around his eyes.

“Maybe.” I shrug and continue flipping through my music.

He steps closer, and I feel his warm breath on the nape of my neck. I haven’t forgotten that he’s shirtless. Far from it. Shivers of pleasure shoot down my back even as the logical part of my brain tells me he’s the enemy. Him and his damn sweets.

“Maybe?” His smile colors his words. “I thought I was getting the royal treatment with all that extra time.”

I turn to face him. “Class is over. You should go.”

He’s close, too close, his green eyes boring into me as my breath hitches in my throat.

“I haven’t paid yet.” His eyes flit to my lips.

“It’s on me.” My voice comes out in a breathy whoosh. “You can go.”

“What if I don’t want to go?” His tone is a mix of seduction and sweetness, and it rises to my head like fizzy champagne.

I try to put steel in my voice. “This is my studio and you—”

His kiss is sudden yet gentle, his lips pressing against mine and his hands going to my waist. My body lights up like the town Christmas tree. I put a hand to his bare chest and push him back.

He breaks the kiss. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

My head spins, and I want his hands on me again, his mouth against mine. He runs a hand through his dark hair and backs up a step. His erection presses against his shorts, and my knees go weak. I did that, me. Chubby Olive Granderson has the track star under her thumb. The thought races through my blood like cocaine. I run my palm down his chest, and he groans as I press my body against his.

This kiss isn’t sweet. It’s rough and full of need from both of us. I ignore the nagging voice in the back of my head that says he’s bad news, and I open my mouth for his delving tongue. I moan and dig my nails into his sides as he presses me to him. Heat rips through me like a flash fire, and desire begins to coil in my center.

He runs a hand to my ponytail and pulls, angling my head sideways as our tongues explore. I don’t remember ever being kissed so fully, so completely. There’s only Hank, his hands on me and his mouth possessing mine. He tastes fresh and sweet, as if he’s been sampling mint chocolate cookies.

I take a breath when he kisses down to my throat and runs his teeth along my neck. This is going too far, but I want it to go even farther. I should push him away, but all I want to do is melt into him as his hands rove my body and his mouth worships my neck. Has anything ever felt this good? No, definitely not.

The door to my studio swings open, and I stumble back against the music deck. Hank turns to look. My mom stomps the snow off her boots, her eyes focused downward, as I step away from Hank. By the time she gets in the door, I’ve hopped off the platform and am making my way to her.

“Welcome!” I say far too loudly.

“Well, good morning to you, too.” Mom smiles and walks in as Hank dons his t-shirt. “And who is this?”

“Hank Winters.” He walks over and takes her hand in a warm shake. “Nice to meet you.”

She gives me a startled look, then turns back to him. “Oh, the candy shop owner I’ve heard so much about?” She clears her throat. “Your divinity is the best I’ve tasted, even better than what my granny used to make.”

“Mom!” Even my own blood had turned traitor?

“What?” She shrugs. “Your father picked up a few things for us to try.”

“It’s just that—” I stop myself before finishing with you know how much I hate the candy shop.

Hank smirks at me, but continues his conversation with my mother without missing a beat. “Well, thank you. It’s an old Winters’ recipe, and I source the pecans from the Yarbrough farm right outside of town.”

Her eyes mist as she glances at me and then back to Hank. “Lordy, that brings back memories of picking up pecans after school and taking them home in the hopes of spurring my mom into making a pie.”

“Did it work?” Hank asks.

“I got lucky on occasion.” She chuckles and wipes at her eyes. My mother, who rules this town with an iron fist and a hairdo that won’t move a centimeter in the strongest wind, just got teary over a dessert.

Hank gives her a warm smile, his friendly demeanor far more charming than it should be. With every word from his lips, my attraction grows stronger. I’m a fool to let it rule me, but I fall under his spell right along with my mom. The same feelings from high school—longing chief among them—well up inside me. I need to get away from him, to regain my composure.

“I’d best get back to the shop.” Hank peers across the street. “Morning rush is coming up.”

I fight the disappointment that flows through my heart. “Thanks for visiting.”

“I’m going to need you to return the favor later this evening. I have something for you at the shop.” He opens the door for two more students, Lizzie and Grace. They shuffle in and strip off their coats, revealing svelte 19-year-old bodies and bright smiles.

He doesn’t look at them, not even a stray glance. His eyes are on me. “Please say you’ll come by.”

“I, um—”

“When a gentleman offers you a gift, you take it, Olive Rue Granderson. She’ll be by tonight, for sure.” My mom continues into the studio and lays her mat on the floor.

I glower at her. She doesn’t pay me any attention and starts up a conversation with Lizzie.

“She’s nice. I like her.” He pushes out the door and into the bitter wind. “See you tonight.”

“I don’t know—”

“Olive!” My mom barks.

“Oh my god.” I flush with embarrassment and curse the day I talked my mom into coming to yoga classes. “Fine. Yes. I’ll come by.”

“Thanks.” He grins. “See you tonight.”